


Ten Tips to Seduce Your Man (At Christmas)

by Pouler (poulerslashes)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, First Time, M/M, asahi is so embarrassing, questionable relationship advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-09-10
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:29:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8003791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poulerslashes/pseuds/Pouler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The problem was this: Asahi was in love, Nishinoya was beautiful, and Asahi didn't know how to show him how he felt.  This was how he found The List."  A story about how Asahi gets desperate and follows terrible advice from a magazine, against his better judgement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Tips to Seduce Your Man (At Christmas)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zeemo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeemo/gifts).



> This story was originally written as part of the Asanoya Secret Santa exchange on tumblr last December, but I wasn't able to complete it before the deadline. Sorry for the wait, Zeemo!

The problem, of course, was that Asahi was in love. It wasn't a new problem, or something he was unfamiliar with – in fact, it was a source of as much joy as anxiety, because the lucky thing was it seemed to be reciprocated. There were times when Nishinoya stared at him with all the unbridled intensity of a rampaging fire, and Asahi had to admit that he quite liked the sort of unnerving feeling it gave him. Actually, he liked pretty much everything about Nishinoya – the way their shoes looked next to each other in the cubbies (Nishinoya's almost small enough to slip inside his own), the way that Nishinoya's voice crackled over the octave as he wavered between excitement and modesty, the way that Nishinoya's eyes looked in the sun, like honey over toast. He liked the way Nishinoya's little hand fit into his, the way he blinked at Asahi after a kiss (like a sleepy cat, though Asahi would never tell him so), and he liked the way that Nishinoya made him feel terrified and tall and brave and small all at once. 

No, Asahi was in love. That was a definite thing. He was in love, and Nishinoya didn't help matters by being so perfect in every single way but one. 

The problem was that Asahi was in love – and he really, really wanted to have sex. He tried to deny it at first, tried to hide it for the weeks and months that he simply looked at Nishinoya with a forlorn tightness in his chest. When denying it became impossible, Asahi tried to ignore it, tried to shove it down under a hundred other things, like work and hobbies and volleyball. Then the unimaginable happened and Nishinoya actually seemed to love him back. Fleeting touches and secret smiles became commonplace between them, and the kissing started making Asahi's toes curl on top of making his stomach flutter. It became a wonderful sort of torture, pushing Nishinoya into the wall until he couldn't bear it anymore, until they would part red-faced and breathing hard, and Nishinoya would grin madly at him and Asahi would try to give a wobbly smile back. 

The problem was, for all his wonderful qualities, Nishinoya seemed to have no idea of the sorts of thoughts Asahi was harboring. And Asahi was equally clueless about how to voice them, or how Nishinoya would react if he did. He'd been so startlingly happy in the months they'd been together. He didn't want to mess everything up after all that. But every time Nishinoya leaned over, the back of his neck would gleam so invitingly at Asahi – every time he laughed, his mouth looked so perfect and red inside – every time he stretched, the little peek of skin tormented Asahi for hours afterward. Nishinoya's wrists were slender and pale, and Asahi couldn't help but notice that he was able to hold both of them together in only one hand. The thought sent a deliciously unnerving shiver up his spine. 

But the problem was this: Asahi was in love, Nishinoya was beautiful, and Asahi didn't know how to show him how he felt. 

This was how he found The List. 

It wasn't as though he purposefully sought it out. He didn't make a habit of thumbing through women's magazines at the bookshop where he worked. But he had happened to be sorting the crosswords when the cover of the magazine caught his eye. There it was, emblazoned on the lower corner in sharp characters: "Want To Seduce Your Man This Holiday Season? Ten Tips How!" 

Asahi wasn't sure how comfortable he felt referring to Nishinoya as His Man, and he wasn't sure a holiday seduction was really the way he wanted their burgeoning intimacy to play out. All the same, he found his fingers itching toward the glossy pages. A quick glance told him that no one was within eyeshot of his corner of the shop, and Asahi managed to snap a picture of the page in question with his phone before anyone else happened to see. It burned a hole in his pocket for the rest of the day. 

When he got home to his tiny apartment that evening, Asahi felt more than a little foolish for giving in to that momentary impulse. He resolved to delete the photo and abandon the idea. 

Then Nishinoya came over for dinner in his practice clothes with his hair plastered to the back of his neck, and Asahi's will shattered like sugar glass. 

"Can you stay the night?" he murmured into the top of Nishinoya's head as they curled together under a blanket and watched TV. 

"Naw," Nishinoya returned, "my mom's been really testy lately about grades. She started enforcin' a curfew and actually checks I'm in bed now." 

"You could..." Asahi ducked his head against Nishinoya's shoulder. "You could sneak out," he said softly, as though he worried they'd be overheard. 

After a startled pause, Nishinoya laughed. Asahi felt the vibrancy of it tremor up his spine. "Asahi-san!" Nishinoya said as he smacked Asahi on the arm. "You're such a bad influence!" 

Asahi smiled into the sharp ridge of Nishinoya's shoulder. "I suppose I am," he said. 

After he kissed Nishinoya goodnight and sent him off into the early darkness of an early December night, Asahi picked up his phone and looked at the list more carefully. 

**#10: Make frequent eye contact** . 

Asahi considered this. That wasn't so outrageous, though prolonged eye contact with Nishinoya was a sometimes daunting pursuit. Asahi hadn't realized that he'd been seducing Nishinoya this whole time just by looking at him. 

He tried the technique the next Saturday, when he met up with Nishinoya downtown. After grabbing lunch, they headed for the shopping center. 

"I need a new pair of knee guards," Nishinoya said. 

"Uh-huh," Asahi returned, while pointedly holding Nishinoya's gaze. _I love you I love you I love you_ , he thought. 

"Then we can go wherever you want." 

"Sounds good," Asahi said. He leaned forward slightly. He felt sweat beading on his forehead. Was it working? 

"Or we can do something else first if you want?" Nishinoya suggested. 

Asahi nodded. _Notice, please notice,_ he thought. _Your face is so nice, your neck is so lovely, your shoulders are perfect, I want to touch you everywhere,_ he thought. 

Nishinoya kept his gaze. Asahi felt his stomach flutter. He closed his hands into fists. 

"Hey, are you mad at me?" Nishinoya asked. 

Asahi blinked and nearly swallowed his tongue. "What?" he blurted as he leaned back again. 

Nishinoya scrunched up his face. "Did I do something? Did I _not_ do something? It's not your birthday yet so I didn't forget that!" He grabbed Asahi's sleeves in both hands. "Just tell me and I'll fix it, I promise!" 

"Wait, wait," Asahi said. "You think I'm mad?" 

"Yeah!" Nishinoya quickly. "You glared at me all through lunch, and you still look angry now!" 

"...angry?" Asahi echoed in despair. He had wanted to look inviting. Maybe he should've practiced in the mirror. He bent his knees and hunched forward so he was closer to Nishinoya's eye-level. He tried to consciously soften his features. "I'm not mad," Asahi assured. 

"You're not?" 

Asahi shook his head. "How could I be mad at you?" 

Nishinoya smiled in obvious relief. "Probably for lots of reasons," he said. 

"No way," Asahi returned. 

"Because I'm too loud," Nishinoya said. 

"No." 

"Because I'm too dumb." 

"Never." 

"Because I push too hard." 

"Only sometimes." 

"Because I'm too short." 

Asahi started laughing. "I'd be mad at you because you're short? How is something like that your fault?" 

"Hey! Are you agreeing that I'm short??" Nishinoya demanded, his eyes gleaming. 

Asahi tucked his face into his scarf and tried to tamp down his amusement. "Of course not," he said. 

So eye contact was too subtle. Or perhaps Asahi just didn't know how to do it properly. It was a bit of a relief, really. All that conscious staring had been giving him a headache. He decided to abandon the effort for the time being, and the rest of the afternoon passed quite pleasantly. 

~ 

**#9: Use suggestive body language.**

What did 'suggestive' mean, anyhow? Asahi wondered about this late at night as he stared at his phone in bed. How much was supposed to be hinted? The eye contact hadn't been obvious enough – what sort of body language would do better? 

He pulled up the browser on his phone and searched the phrase. 

Most of the sites he found seemed to detail how to interpret suggestive body language rather than how to express it. To his frustration, 'eye contact' appeared again on almost every page. "Load of good that did me," he mumbled against his pillow. 

Would Nishinoya know enough to pick up on the signals if Asahi put them out there? He looked over the rest of the suggestions. Touching hair. Preening. Stroking cylindrical things like the stem of a glass or a pen. Asahi had a hard time imagining how he might casually end up with the stemmed glass or pen in his hand in the sort of situation that could lead to suggestive behavior. Maybe a study date? He could invite Nishinoya over, and one thing could lead to another... 

Sudden guilt at the thought of luring Nishinoya over under false pretenses flooded through Asahi's body and made his limbs feel weak. He clicked off his phone and rolled over in bed. Maybe he was a terrible person. After all, Nishinoya was still in high school, and here Asahi was thinking about the swell of Nishinoya's thighs in his practice shorts, the pink flush he'd get high in his cheeks after running. 

Asahi's fingers twitched against his duvet. 

It didn't help that Nishinoya was compact and warm, his skin firm and hot beneath the fabric of his t-shirt when Asahi put a hand on his shoulder or an arm around his waist. Sometimes Nishinoya made _such a noise_ when Asahi kissed him – a lovely sound that was part sigh and part moan – that Asahi's stomach clenched and heat spilled into him, tightening down between his thighs. 

Asahi groaned and covered his face with his hand. Was it wrong to want to touch Nishinoya so badly? He could see Nishinoya's face in his mind, upturned and flushed, lips parted and eyes heavy-lidded. 

_Asahi-san_ , Nishinoya would say, in that thready tone that made Asahi's legs turn to jelly. 

Asahi bit his palm. Was it wrong? He wanted Nishinoya down between his legs; he wanted to bury his fingers in Nishinoya's hair and watch that perfect laughing mouth close around his cock. 

Asahi almost whimpered as he stuck his hand into the waistband of his boxers and closed his fingers around himself. 

_Asahi-san,_ Nishinoya would sigh, as Asahi put his hands on him. 

Nishinoya's cock would feel a bit like Asahi's did in his hand, warm skin gliding smoothly over the hardness underneath. Asahi had snuck a few looks back before they were together, Nishinoya in his briefs in the clubroom or naked in the bath at training camp. But he could only imagine how Nishinoya would look when he was hard, his cock full and flushed and arching into Asahi's palm. 

_Asahi-san!_ Nishinoya would moan as he came, just as Asahi did with his fist shoved into his mouth and his hips lifting off the bed. 

When the feeling passed, Asahi became aware of how hot it was in his room; his shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his sweaty chest. He peeled off the offending garment and used it to wipe his hand before tossing it away. 

Definitely a terrible person, he thought. 

~ 

**#8: If you have long hair, take it down in front of him.**

"What's wrong with you?" Nishinoya asked him the next day. "You're acting so weird." 

" _Weird_ ," Asahi echoed, his voice cracking slightly. "I'm not weird." 

Asahi had agreed to let him come over if Nishinoya promised to spend at least a little time studying – true to his word, Nishinoya sat on the floor of Asahi's apartment, books and papers spread out in a messy fan across Asahi's low table in the center of the room. Asahi was fairly certain that Nishinoya had every intention of working, but not much actual studying had gotten done in the few hours he'd been there. 

"I didn't say you _are_ weird," Nishinoya insisted, "I said you're _acting_ weird." 

"I'm not," Asahi repeated in a meek voice as he poured boiling water into a pair of mugs containing hot chocolate mix. It was a lie. He'd been stiff and awkward and had avoided meeting Nishinoya's eye the entire visit. But he couldn't exactly explain that he still felt guilty for the night before. He carried the mugs across the room from the kitchenette and set them on the table before he sat down across from Nishinoya. 

Nishinoya gave him a frustrated groan. "Well, whatever, but _stop_ ," he demanded as he leaned over his paper again and put his pencil back to it. 

Asahi hung his head and stared at the table. "Sorry," he mumbled. _For all of this_ , he added silently. 

When Asahi lifted his eyes, he found Nishinoya's face scrunched in concentration. "What are you working on?" he asked quietly. 

"Shhh," Nishinoya returned. "I'm thinking." He was almost impossibly adorable, with a deep ridge between his eyebrows and his tongue sticking half out of his mouth. Asahi loved him so much he couldn't stand it. 

What could it hurt? Asahi wondered. 

He chewed on his lip. Maybe he could – well, it had to look natural, didn't it? Something that wouldn't arouse suspicion. He could pretend to stretch and loosen the tie in his hair, and then maybe it would fall out of its own accord – and Nishinoya would be turned on by it? Asahi wasn't quite sure how taking his hair down was supposed to lead to sex, but then again he hadn't been sure of other things on the list either. 

Asahi felt that he had pretty nice hair, all things considered. It was thick and soft, and he'd only recently had the ends trimmed; he had even washed it the night before. So it was at about the optimal level of alluring, if hair could be alluring. 

Asahi lifted his arms. He bent his elbow above his head toward the ceiling and used his opposite hand to pull on the joint; he felt the resulting stretch in the back of his upper arm as expected. Nishinoya didn't even look up. So far so good. 

Asahi surreptitiously slipped his fingers into his hair and found the elastic holding it together. He gave it a minute tug and felt it slip out of place – strands of hair began to escape and tickle against the sides of his neck. Emboldened by the promising start, he pulled a little more in earnest. 

His fingers snagged on tangle. 

Asahi glanced up. Nishinoya still had his eyes trained on his paper. _Okay_ ,  Asahi told himself. _No problem so far. Don't panic_ . He tugged on his fingers, but they were caught in between the tie and the snarl of hair complicating his plan. He shook his hand as imperceptibly as possible and pulled harder. No luck. He tugged as hard as he dared and felt most of his hair fall free, but the tie cinched more tightly around his index and middle finger. 

Perhaps sensing Asahi's stare, Nishinoya slowly lifted his chin. Asahi panicked and wrenched his hand out – he felt the painful yank and _twang_ of hairs snapping. When he brought his hand around in front of his face to assess the damage, he saw no small amount of hair tangled around the elastic twisted on his fingers. 

“Asahi-san,” Nishinoya said in a careful tone, “what the hell is wrong with you?” 

Asahi slowly pulled the hair tie off his fingers. He was absolutely mortified. “I... I have a headache,” he said. “I thought I should... take it down...” It wasn't exactly a lie. His temples were pounding from the ferocious blush flooding into his face. He could feel his ears already starting to ache. He covered his face with one hand and lowered his forehead onto the table. “M-maybe I should lay down for awhile.” 

“Where you gonna lay down, Asahi-san? Your apartment is like a closet. Your futon's still put away.” 

“I don't know,” Asahi mumbled into the tabletop. “On the floor.” He promptly did so, sliding from the table onto the hardwood. _Should get a rug_ , Asahi thought absently as he pressed his hot cheek into the cool floor. The building was brand new and very modern, and Asahi missed the smell of tatami from his parent's house. 

He felt a light touch against his head and startled badly, kicking out one of the folding legs of the table in his distress. It clattered loudly as it collapsed at one corner and dumped Nishinoya's schoolwork onto the floor. 

“I'm sor–!” The word cut off as Asahi attempted to sit up so quickly that he clunked his face hard into the underside of Nishinoya's sharp chin. 

“Ow!” Nishinoya toppled backward and landed on his elbows on the floor. 

Asahi grabbed his nose in both hands and groaned in pain. Well, he certainly had a headache after that.  Nishinoya's chin had impacted at the bridge of his nose, almost between his eyebrows. “I'm so sorry, I'm sorry!” he blurted repeatedly. 

“I nearly bit my tongue!” 

“Are you alright?!” Asahi forced himself into a sitting position so he could survey the scene. Nishinoya had come around to his side of the table and now was jumbled in a pile near Asahi's feet, rubbing his quickly reddening chin. Asahi reached forward to touch him, then pulled back slightly before making contact. “Nishinoya?” he said nervously. 

“You got a really hard head, Asahi-san!” Nishinoya said. He reached out with his other hand and grabbed Asahi's wrist, then pulled himself up onto his knees using Asahi's body as a counterweight. With Asahi sitting on the floor and Nishinoya kneeling between his legs, they were at about the same eye-level. “You okay?” Nishinoya asked. He put his hands on Asahi's shoulders and leaned in close to peer at Asahi's face. 

Asahi took in Nishinoya's face near his own, his long lashes and narrow nose, the dimple above his thin pink lips. “Nishinoya,” he repeated softly, in a voice he couldn't quite control. 

Nishinoya blinked at him, then a slow grin touched one corner of his mouth. He slid his hands from Asahi's shoulders around the back of his neck. “I think you knocked something loose, Asahi-san,” he said. He leaned in. Asahi closed his eyes. 

And nothing happened. Asahi opened his eyes again. 

Nishinoya was staring at him with an expression that mixed concern and delight. 

“What?” Asahi said. 

“Your nose is bleeding,” Nishinoya explained. A manic gleam appeared in his eyes. “Holy shit, it's _really_ bleeding! Wow!” 

Asahi lifted his hand to his nose. It felt wet and hot, and when he pulled his fingers away they were covered in a bright red. He felt light-headed. “I-I need to lie down,” he said, and he meant it this time. 

~ 

**#7: Over cappuccinos, "accidentally" get some foam on the corner of your lip. Then, slowly use your tongue to take it off.**

Though Asahi hadn't broken his nose, he had also entirely failed to move the plan forward any further . He was beginning to suspect the list was omitting a good number of details – the specifics of how each suggestion was supposed to work, or how to properly move from one to the other. Was he supposed to do more than one at a time? Or did they somehow work by building up, one after another, to some critical mass of arousal? 

At least this one was specific enough. At least it had some directions. Nishinoya wasn't really a fan of coffee, but the shop had hot chocolate and cakes, and the air outside had taken a real turn to winter.  It wasn't tremendously difficult to convince him to make a stop for warm drinks and baked goods. 

It didn’t really help matters that Nishinoya had forgotten to wear a scarf _again_ – perhaps he simply didn’t own any, Asahi wondered – so Asahi had wrapped one of his own around Nishinoya’s shoulders and neck. The scarf was too big, and it nearly covered Nishinoya’s mouth unless he purposely tucked it under his chin. It made Asahi boil inside. 

Nishinoya picked strawberry cake buried underneath what appeared to be nearly a ton of white fluffy frosting. As soon as they sat down at a table – Asahi had picked one tucked in the corner, behind a divider, away from the eyes of the main seating room – Nishinoya stuck his finger right in the frosting and scooped a huge dollop directly into his mouth. 

Asahi watched the digit disappear in between his lips, watched the way his cheeks hollowed as he sucked it clean. The finger came out shiny and pink. 

Asahi groaned out loud and rubbed a hand down his face in misery. 

“What?” Nishinoya said, with frosting on his chin and his finger still next to his mouth. “What’s wrong?” 

“ _Nothing_ ,” Asahi sighed, and he drank his cappuccino so quickly that he couldn’t taste anything for the rest of the week. 

**~**

**#6: Pull a popsicle out of your freezer and share it with him. Go very slow when it's your turn and use plenty of tongue.**

“Let’s split this one,” Asahi suggested while Nishinoya licked the first stick clean. Asahi had made the mistake of handing the popsicle to Nishinoya before taking a bite himself, and it had disappeared in four quick flashes of white teeth. 

“Alright, alright,” Nishinoya said, sitting back on his heels on Asahi’s floor. 

Asahi peeled back the wrapper. He held the popsicle out for a moment, staring at the shiny blue surface. Nothing natural about the color blue in this case. How did they make it so blue? He steeled himself. It was now or never. Nothing else had worked. 

How exactly was he supposed to start? 

“Asahi-san, are you gonna eat it or not?” 

“Oh!” Asahi jumped. “Yes!” He shoved the popsicle halfway into his mouth without thinking, then grimaced internally. It was supposed to be sexy, he reminded himself. He needed to do a better job of it. 

Asahi drew the popsicle back out of his mouth slowly. The icy surface of it glistened. Carefully, Asahi pressed the tip of the popsicle into the center of his tongue. Sweet. Cold. He glanced toward Nishinoya. 

He was staring back intently, his eyes fixed to the popsicle in Asahi’s mouth. 

Asahi felt heat rise into his face. He lowered his eyes to his fingers curled around the popsicle stick. _Suggestive_ , his brain supplied, and he remembered the images that flashed through it that night – flushed skin and sharp gasps and that perfect little face he loved rent in pleasure. Asahi tried to focus on that desire, tried to use it to inspire his actions rather than inhibit them. 

He sucked inward, as slowly as he could manage, ignoring the sting of cold on his tongue and the sickly sweet taste. When he pulled the popsicle back out of his mouth, equally as deliberate, he lifted his gaze again. Nishinoya was leaning forward, hands on his knees, his parted lips dangerously close and inviting. 

Asahi pulled the popsicle out of his mouth. “Your turn,” he said, in the most seductive voice he could conjure. 

Nishinoya raised his hand wordlessly. As Asahi handed the popsicle over, their fingers brushed together, and electricity zinged up his arm. 

Nishinoya lifted the popsicle to his mouth. His eyes were still locked to Asahi’s. Asahi felt a desperate curl of excitement in his stomach. 

Nishinoya bit off half of the popsicle in one go. “Here,” he said with his mouth full, blue ice shards flying, as he shoved the stick back into Asahi’s hand. “Your turn.” 

Asahi stared at the remaining half of the popsicle, the top of the stick exposed above the jagged edge of broken candy ice. He felt as though his penis might invert inside his body. 

“Thanks,” he said in a hoarse voice. 

**~**

**#5: Drape yourself across his lap and arch your back so that your boobs stick out.**

“Asahi-san.” 

“Yes?” 

“You’re squishing me.” 

“Sorry.” 

**~**

**#4: Use pomegranate. Pomegranate juice has been shown to boost men's sex drives in a few studies.**

"Asahi-san." 

"Hm?" 

"What's in this juice?" Asahi ducked his head. His ears were burning. "It- it's just a punch," he said. "Some different things." 

Nishinoya was quiet for a moment, then he put the cup down. “What kind of things?” he asked. His voice sounded odd. 

Asahi looked at him carefully. A blush was trailing up Nishinoya's neck. Was the pomegranate working already? Asahi found this fairly shocking. Why did anyone eat them if they caused a reaction so quickly? 

Nishinoya scratched his neck. Then he scratched his shoulder. Then his leg and his arm together at the same time with opposite hands. "I might need to go to the emergency room," he said. 

Asahi realized the redness wasn't a flush. He grabbed Nishinoya's wrist and pushed on his sleeve to expose his arm up to the elbow. He was already covered in hives. 

~ 

**#3: Send him dirty texts of your wildest fantasies.**

/How are you feeling/ 

/swelling going down butAI”M STILL SUPER ICTCHY ASAHISAN/ 

/Im so sorry i didnt know you were allergic/ 

/how were u supposed to no if i didnt tell u/ 

/i dont know i just feel like i should have known/ 

/thats dumb asahisan/ 

/i know/ 

/now i gotta put calamine evrywhere/ 

Asahi paused and stared at his phone. he could already see the way in. It would be easy, wouldn’t it? All he would have to say is, _need some help with that?_ and the door would be opened. He wrestled with the thought for a long moment, even went so far as typing out a few characters before the fear got the better of him. He backspaced. 

/want me to bring you anything?/ 

/do u want 2 come over n watch a movie/ 

/can i pick the movie/ 

/no its my turn/ 

/can i make a no-horror request/ 

/whos itchy here u or me/ 

/can i cover my eyes at the gory parts/ 

/im not gonna make u watch a horror movie u nerd just pls come over/ 

/ok/ 

/:) :):)/ 

**~**

**#2: Masturbate in front of him.**

"No, no, no, _no, no, no_ ," Asahi muttered furiously. Then he turned off his phone and hid it in his sock drawer for half an hour. 

**~**

**#1: Wear red – or wear nothing at all!**

Sooner than Asahi expected, Christmas Eve arrived, and he found himself no closer to the seduction the magazine had promised. Christmas Day would be spent with their respective families, and so Asahi intended to make this night count for something – their first Christmas as a couple, the first holiday they’d get to spend together in the privacy of Asahi’s apartment. He couldn’t waste this opportunity, he told himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. What was the point of having his own apartment if he couldn’t use it to share a few private moments with his boyfriend? 

Nishinoya was coming at six. They’d have dinner, Asahi had promised. They’d watch a dumb Christmas movie. They’d exchange gifts. 

Asahi had two gifts ready. One was Nishinoya’s official gift, a calligraphy set. The other was hidden in his closet on a high shelf, in a white rectangular box. Asahi had ordered it from a website that he was now very embarrassed had his personal information. 

But he was determined. He’d suffered a nearly broken nose, had burned off the top layer of his tongue, had given his boyfriend an allergic reaction. If he ended up with nothing to show for the amount of mortification he’d endured… he didn’t even want to think about it. 

He decided to go simple for dinner, just a few dishes, nothing too heavy. He nervously paced the length of his tiny apartment and took three baths in the small tub, where his knees nearly touched his chin. 

“Tonight,” he told his reflection after the third bath. His twin in the mirror looked a little nervous, so Asahi leaned forward with his hands braced against the sink. “Tonight!” he said, more firmly this time, “tonight we’re gonna seduce Nishinoya!” 

Saying it out loud sounded ridiculous – he was relieved no one was there to hear him but himself. Just the one audience member was embarrassing enough. His chest was flushed bright red, his ears the same shade, but he still tried to glare at his reflection as hard as he could. “Tonight,” he told it sharply. He gave himself a firm nod before digging out his razor, and promptly cut his chin while shaving. 

He changed his outfit four times, alternating between a tight t-shirt that hugged his arms and chest and a loose button-up that would be easier to take off. He felt absurd as he checked himself in the mirror after each change, trying to imagine how he might look through Nishinoya’s eyes. How could he make himself enticing enough? How could he properly send the signal to Nishinoya how desperate he was, without outright saying so? In all Asahi’s romantic imaginings, “I really want to fuck you” was not the sort of confession he usually included. 

It was a quarter ‘til six when Nishinoya landed a single loud knock on his door before barging into the apartment, calling, “Asahi-san!” as he came in. 

Asahi had been unbuttoning his shirt to switch back to the t-shirt, but he hastily did the buttons back up again before he stepped out of the bathroom. His nervousness, though substantial, was not quite enough to overcome the happy butterflies that filled his stomach when Nishinoya came into view. “Hi,” he said, already feeling hot all over like he’d just run a mile in the summertime. 

“You’ll never guess what happened today!” Nishinoya said. He hadn’t stopped moving from the moment he came in the door. Already his shoes were off and he dumped his bag nearby. He crossed the floor toward Asahi. “Mom wanted to get a family portrait done of us all in Christmas sweaters.” He was still wearing his sweater, a lime green affair with white detailed stitching, rows of snowflakes and triangular pine trees. It didn’t suit him at all. Asahi loved it so much that he hurt. 

Nishinoya continued. “So we all put on our dumb sweaters–” He tugged his own off over his head as he spoke and threw it across the room as though offended by the smell of it. “And we go down to the mall to get the photo done, and when we get there, they tell us they don’t have her reservation!” 

“Oh no,” Asahi said meekly, as he tried not to stare at the expanse of skin made available to him before Nishinoya tugged down the red t-shirt he’d been wearing underneath the sweater. 

“So, y’know my mom, she throws a big fit, in the middle of the store – she made the reservation a month ago, she says! But the guy is like, no it’s not on the book. We’ll have to make another reservation for another time.” 

“That must have gone well,” Asahi said. He’d only met Nishinoya’s mom on one occasion, but the woman packed twice as much ferocity as her son into a frame that was a few centimeters shorter. 

Nishinoya laughed. “I thought she was gonna go over the table at him!” he said. “But she got in very close to him–” Nishinoya imitated the action by stepping over to Asahi. “And she grabbed his tie and pulled down like this –” He clutched the front of Asahi’s shirt and tugged, and Asahi went without resistance. “Then she said–” Nishinoya pitched his voice low and even, chillingly calm. “My family and I are here to have our Christmas photograph. We are dressed for it, and we will have it done.” His mouth was so close to Asahi’s that his hot breath puffed over Asahi’s lips and chin. 

Asahi shivered, both from Nishinoya’s closeness and the vividness of the scene he painted. “Did she get her picture?” he whispered. 

Nishinoya grinned and nodded. “Oh yes. We got a deluxe package. Just wait until you see that trainwreck.” He kissed Asahi quickly, then released his shirt. “I’m starvin’!” he declared. “When can we eat?” 

Asahi staggered back a step. “It – it’s almost ready,” he said. “We can finish it up together, if you like…” 

They ate dinner sitting around Asahi’s fold-out table. Nishinoya talked with his mouth full and Asahi listened, or tried to anyway; he kept finding himself distracted, only realizing his mind had wandered when he noticed Nishinoya staring at him expectantly. 

“Really?” Asahi said quickly, hoping it was enough to connect to Nishinoya’s unknown question. 

“Yeah!” Nishinoya insisted, then he continued his commentary. 

Asahi breathed an internal sigh of relief. He was proud of himself for holding things together as long as he had with the knowledge of where he wanted the night to go hanging over him. No, he’d done very well. Only a little stuttering, a few instances of staring into space, casting a heated gaze over Nishinoya’s various perfect features – like his hands, those deft little hands, always animated, always moving, fingers splayed wide as Nishinoya told him a story that he heard very little of– 

Asahi shook himself. He could do this, he told himself. He had a plan. He would just stick to the plan this time. He would muscle through it, and everything would work out. 

He repeated the mantra to himself half a dozen times as they cleared the dishes. He could do this. He could do this. He would hold it together. He folded the table as Nishinoya put the dishes in the sink of the kitchenette. “Rinse them!” he insisted, and he smiled when he heard Nishinoya grumble out of sight. Asahi leaned the table against the wall so it would be out of the way. 

_Yes,_ he thought, _plenty of room now_ . 

But how to get started? He still wasn’t sure. How was he supposed to make that leap from having dinner with his boyfriend to sleeping with him? And would they do it on the floor? Surely getting his futon out at this point would seem awkward and obvious, or at the very least, rather strange. Then again, they did curl up in it to watch TV a lot… 

“Should I get out the futon to watch the movie?” he asked. 

“No, that’s okay,” Nishinoya returned as he loaded dishes into the washer. “Let’s do presents first!” 

“Okay, we can do presents,” Asahi began to say, but halfway through the sentence he suddenly remembered that he had two presents for Nishinoya, and the nature of the second gift made his voice squeak through the last word that he spoke. When he glanced up, already feeling the heat in his ears, he saw Nishinoya looking at him curiously from the kitchenette. Asahi ducked his head and tried to ignore his heart hammering in his chest. 

He retrieved Nishinoya’s present – the real one, not his secret one – from the cabinet above the fridge. He’d had it gift wrapped at the shop, since he had no talent for that sort of thing; the box was covered in gold paper and accented with a red ribbon and a sprig of pine. 

“Wow!” Nishinoya exclaimed when Asahi sat on the floor beside him. “This is really fancy, Asahi-san!” In return, from his bag Nishinoya wrestled a large… something, misshapen and haphazardly covered with white paper that said ‘Congratulations!’ in multicolored foil lettering. He smiled sheepishly at Asahi as he handed it over. “Sorry,” he said, “we didn’t have any Christmas paper at my house.” 

Asahi couldn’t help but smile. “That’s okay,” he said. He took the present from Nishinoya as he passed his own over, and set his gift down in his lap while he watched Nishinoya tear into his without a moment of hesitation. 

It was a simple gift, a basic calligraphy set with an ink stone and stick and two brushes to start with, all tucked neatly into a black rolled case. Asahi had hoped to be able to get a nicer one with multiple inks and a wooden box to store them in, but his budget stretched thin to accommodate the set he had chosen. _Maybe next year_ , he thought to himself. He hoped it would be enough for now to satisfy Nishinoya. 

Nishinoya got all the wrapping paper off. The set was inside a box of sturdy cardstock, which Nishinoya practically destroyed. When he got down to the leather case of the set, he stopped. 

Asahi felt apprehension bloom in his stomach. What if Nishinoya didn’t like it? He’d been so distracted by his nefarious seduction plan that he hadn’t managed to consider this possibility. 

Nishinoya turned the case over and over in his hands. After a moment, he slowly undid the fastener and unrolled the case in his hands. As it came open, it displayed the little pockets inside for the ink sticks, the stone, the round elastics which held the brushes. There was room in the case to expand the collection, so some pockets and elastics were empty. 

“Asahi-san,” Nishinoya said very seriously, as he took in the set before him, “what is this?” 

“Is… it okay?” Asahi asked. “I thought you might like to try it… you always do those shirts, and you like idioms…” Asahi looked away and picked at a loose corner of paper on the present in his lap. “If you don’t like it, I can  get you something else.” 

“This is amazing,” Nishinoya breathed. “You got this for me? This must have been so expensive! How could you afford it?” 

Asahi sighed in relief and turned back toward Nishinoya. “It wasn’t that bad,” he assured. “I wanted to get it for you.” 

“You really think I’d be any good at it?” Nishinoya asked. “I’ll probably make a huge mess.” 

Asahi smiled and leaned into him. “You’ll be great,” he said. “You’re always great.” 

Nishinoya’s looked up at him, his eyes large and luminous, and he gave Asahi a grin that lit his whole face. “Thank you, Asahi-san,” Nishinoya said quietly. 

Asahi almost felt himself knocked back from it. He was certain his heart turned inside out in his chest. “Y-you’re welcome,” he managed. 

The smile dropped from Nishinoya’s face, and his expression twisted into a look of anxiety. “Give me that present back,” he said, quickly rolling the case up as he spoke. 

“What?” Asahi returned. 

“It’s not as good,” Nishinoya continued. He fastened the case and set it aside. “It’s just… a thing. It’s not as nice as this.” He reached toward the present in Asahi’s lap. “Give it back to me and I’ll get you a better one.” 

Asahi lifted the present out of his reach. “What? No!” 

“C’mon!” Nishinoya insisted. He went up onto his knees in an attempt to reach the messily wrapped parcel in Asahi’s hand. “Just trust me on this!” 

Asahi put his hand on Nishinoya’s chest to hold him back, and stretched his arm as far as he could to the side – a considerable distance away from Nishinoya’s reach. “No,” he said again. “I want to open it.” 

“Asahi-san!” Nishinoya clambered into his lap and tried to crawl over his chest and shoulder toward his outstretched hand. “Give me the present!” he demanded. 

Asahi wrapped his arm around Nishinoya’s waist to hold him in place, but the action was in vain. Nishinoya seemed to be everywhere at once, a hand squashing down Asahi’s still-tender nose, the other tugging at his shirt as he tried to wriggle out of Asahi’s grasp. His knees skirted over Asahi’s thighs, sharp joints digging in on Asahi’s legs, his chest, his arm. 

Asahi was laughing as they wrestled for the present, but he abruptly stopped, freezing in place when Nishinoya’s thigh brushed near his groin, impossible to ignore. Asahi tightened the arm he had around Nishinoya’s waist. “Nishinoya,” he choked, “stop.” 

Nishinoya continued to scramble in his lap, gaining ground on Asahi’s slackened arm. “Not until you give it!” he insisted. He made one last lunge at the present, and the weight of him shifting abruptly coupled with Asahi’s sudden weakness unsettled their equilibrium; they fell together, Asahi first with Nishinoya landing on top of him. The air left Asahi’s lungs in a whoosh when he hit the floor. 

Nishinoya sat up quickly and straddled Asahi’s waist. He held the present above his head in victory. Its wrapping job had grown even more slapdash, just barely hiding the gift within the paper. “I win!” Nishinoya shouted as he laughed maniacally. Then he looked down at Asahi, and the expression on his face went from triumph to confusion. Asahi knew his distress must’ve been visible. 

“Are you okay?” Nishinoya asked as he lowered the present. “Did I hurt you or something?” 

“No,” Asahi said. He desperately wanted to run his hands over Nishinoya’s legs where they clamped firm and hot on either side of his body; instead, he closed them into tight fists against the floor. Asahi was sure any minute that Nishinoya might turn around and discover the source of his discomfort. 

“Then what’s wrong?” Nishinoya asked. He looked at the present in his hands. “Is it… d’you want it that bad?” He offered the parcel out toward Asahi. 

Asahi shook his head. “Can you get off of me, please?” he said in a small voice. His plan, he thought. What about his plan? What about the other gift in his closet? Would he ruin his chances before he even got an opportunity for it? 

Nishinoya slowly climbed off his stomach, and Asahi sat up and turned aside as quickly as he could. He knew his face and chest were red; he could feel the heat on the back of his neck and his ears. He clenched his fist hard enough for his nails to cut into his palm. Between the pain of that and the intense shame swimming in his stomach, his arousal began to subside. 

“I’m sorry,” Nishinoya said beside him. 

Asahi turned in surprise. Nishinoya wasn’t looking at him, He was turning the present over and over in his hands, his gaze turned toward the floor. 

“Nishinoya,” Asahi said. "You didn't–" 

"Asahi-san," Nishinoya cut in. "You still like me, right?" 

Asahi blinked. "What?" he said. "Of course I do!" 

"Okay, that's good," Nishinoya said softly. 

Asahi leaned toward him, bracing himself on one hand against the floor. "How could you possibly think I didn't?" he asked. 

Nishinoya shrugged. "I don't know why," he started, "but it's almost like..." He frowned pensively before continuing. "Almost like things have been weird lately." 

Asahi hunched and pulled back again. "Weird?" he echoed. 

"Yeah." Nishinoya nodded. "Like, it's been... kinda awkward?" He kept flipping the present in his hands. "You just seem like you're distracted or something." 

Asahi wiped the flop sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He swallowed hard. "M-maybe I have been," he admitted. 

Nishinoya finally glanced up at him. "You'd tell me if it was something I did, right?" 

Asahi bit his lip. He clasped his hands together tightly and hunched over his lap. "It's nothing you did," he said. "It's not you that's the problem." He grimaced. "Well, it has to do with you, but... it's not your fault." Asahi sighed miserably and concluded, "It's me. I'm the problem." 

"Whatever it is, I can help!" Nishinoya insisted. He put down the present and leaned toward Asahi, placing a hand on his thigh. "Just tell me! We'll fix it!" 

Asahi stared at the slender-fingered hand on his leg. The immediate need had muted inside him, but he still felt desperation churning around beneath his stomach. He covered Nishinoya's hand with his own. "I – I'm worried that you'll hate me," Asahi said softly. 

"That's impossible," Nishinoya insisted. 

Asahi allowed himself a wan smile and closed his eyes. "Do you promise?" He thought fleetingly of the present in his closet. "I'm not so sure I don't hate myself already," he said. 

He felt Nishinoya's hand slip from underneath his, then the twin pressure of both hands on Asahi's shoulders. Asahi opened his eyes to find Nishinoya an inch away from his face, staring at him with a sharp intensity. 

"Don't say that," Nishinoya said. "Nothin's that bad that we can't fix it." 

Asahi felt his lips tremble. He swallowed again and steeled his courage. "It's... I'm..." He sweated under Nishinoya's harsh gaze and looked aside. "I'm just. I –" Asahi laughed nervously. How could he word this? _I'm horny_ , didn't exactly have the poetic cadence he was aiming for. 

He groaned. "I love you," he said. "I love you, Nishinoya." 

Nishinoya leaned back and his expression softened. "Well, I know that," he said. "Is that all?" 

"No," Asahi said. "That's not all." He closed his hands tightly over his thighs, digging his fingers into his pants. "I... I want..." He inhaled sharply, then let it all out in a single breath. "I want to touch you!” he shouted. “I can’t stand it! It’s all I think about!" 

Nishinoya lifted his hands up and pulled away in surprise at Asahi's outburst. He giggled, the sound of it tight and nervous, which made Asahi sick with shame. 

"I'm so sorry," Asahi said quickly, "I'm _so sorry_ ." He covered his face with his hands. "It's awful and I'm terrible." 

"When you say ' _touch_ '..." Nishinoya started slowly, "what exactly do you mean?" 

Asahi lowered his hands. He saw that Nishinoya didn't look disgusted or frightened, and he was somewhat comforted by that. 

"Do you mean..." Nishinoya's face screwed up and abruptly turned a brilliant shade of scarlet. "You mean, like." He pointed downwards. 

Asahi nodded. 

"Oh! Good." Nishinoya visibly relaxed at that point. His expression was one of relief. "That's all," he said. "I thought it was somethin' bad." 

“That’s… that’s not bad?” 

“What? No!” Nishinoya laughed again, more naturally this time, though he was still blushing. “Y’think that’s bad?” He sat back on his heels across from Asahi. “I mean,” he said. He looked at the floor, then back at Asahi, his eyelashes flicking bashfully on his cheekbones. He continued, “I wanna touch you too, Asahi-san.” 

Asahi’s stomach did a somersault. “You do?” he asked. 

“Of course I do!” Nishinoya insisted. He scrambled forward again, climbing back into Asahi’s lap before Asahi even had the chance to react. “You make me feel crazy!” 

Asahi hesitantly put his hands against Nishinoya’s sides. “You’re not mad?” 

“ _Mad_ !” Nishinoya laughed. He wrapped his arms around the back of Asahi’s neck and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. “I’m just mad you didn’t tell me sooner! Why didn’t you say something!” 

Asahi thought about the list. He thought about the guilt that had tangled up inside him and stifled his words, his actions. “I – I don’t know,” he said. Nishinoya was warm against him, his hands like twin brands of heat against either side of Asahi’s head as he continued to kiss every inch of Asahi’s face. Asahi closed his eyes and clenched his hands into the fabric of Nishinoya’s t-shirt. 

When Nishinoya drifted to his neck, Asahi felt his heart nearly hammer out of his chest. “Are you sure?” he whispered. 

Nishinoya exhaled against the skin of his throat, and Asahi shivered in response. “Asahi-san,” Nishinoya said, “would you listen to me? You can touch me as much as you like. I _want_ you to.” 

“What if I can’t stop once I start?” Asahi asked. 

Nishinoya giggled again, right next to his jaw. His lips caught the edge of Asahi’s earlobe. “What if I don’t want you to stop?” he breathed. 

Asahi shuddered at that. Who was he to argue while Nishinoya’s sharp frame shifted against his chest and legs as he moved. Asahi spent a long minute with a white-knuckled grip on Nishinoya’s shirt as he tried to get a handle on the tension swirling in his abdomen, the heat sinking lower and lower, twisting like coiled snakes between his legs. Then Nishinoya’s hands went to the collar of his shirt and undid the first button. 

Asahi grabbed his wrists. Nishinoya paused and pulled back, watching Asahi carefully. Then he lowered his hands a little further – Asahi’s fingers stayed tight around his wrists, though he did not resist the action – and undid the second button, followed by the third. By the fourth button Asahi’s hands were shaking. His shirt fell open nearly to his navel. Nishinoya pressed forward again and slipped his hands into Asahi’s shirt, splaying his fingers against his chest. 

“Nishinoya,” Asahi choked. 

“C’mon,” Nishinoya returned, “c’mon, Asahi-san.” 

Asahi felt something break loose inside him. He tightened his grip on Nishinoya’s wrists and pulled his hands out of his shirt; he tugged them up over Nishinoya’s head and from there he kept pushing forward until Nishinoya tipped back. Nishinoya’s legs clamped tightly to Asahi’s sides as his center of gravity shifted – the action made the clamor inside Asahi ramp up in volume; he shoved Nishinoya’s wrists back and down until they tipped over, and Nishinoya’s back hit the floor. 

Asahi halted there with his cheek pressed hard against Nishinoya’s, with his body pinning the smaller one to the floorboards, with Nishinoya’s legs wrapped around his waist and his own legs awkwardly scrambling against the floor for purchase. His jeans felt obscenely tight, his skin hot under his clothes, sweat on his back and under his hair. 

Asahi felt Nishinoya’s breath pass over his skin as he whispered in Asahi’s ear, “Don’t stop.” 

He let go of Nishinoya's wrists, and Nishinoya's hands went immediately into his hair. Asahi turned his face against Nishinoya's head; his lips found the soft skin of Nishinoya's neck below his ear. Asahi slid his hands down along Nishinoya's sides until his fingers found the hem of Nishinoya's t-shirt. He slipped them underneath the fabric and up, brushing tentatively against the soft skin of Nishinoya's ribs. 

Nishinoya giggled next to his ear. "It tickles," he said. 

Asahi touched him more firmly, and then Nishinoya sighed softly. The sound made a twinge of pleasure clench at Asahi's stomach; his hesitation faded and he rolled his hips forward. 

Nishinoya's sigh turned into a groan – he shifted his legs down until his heels hooked under Asahi's backside, then pulled Asahi in tight so their bodies shifted together. Asahi could feel that Nishinoya was hard against him as they moved; he clamped his hands down on Nishinoya's sides and pressed his hips forward again and again. He tried to kiss at Nishinoya's neck but found himself losing track of the action and instead just breathing hotly underneath the space of Nishinoya's ear. Later he'd be mortified at the sounds that came out of his mouth, but there was no embarrassment now. 

"Oh," Nishinoya moaned, "Oh, c'mon, _please_ ." 

Asahi let go of Nishinoya's sides and instead wedged his hands between Nishinoya's ass and the floor; his hands were so large that he could nearly cover the entire seat of Nishinoya's pants. Asahi fumbled for a moment, kneading the soft flesh through the fabric beneath his fingers, before he adjusted his grip enough to pull Nishinoya's body up against his own – he kept rolling his hips into Nishinoya's, drawing obscene sounds out of him as they moved together. Asahi felt a sharp pain on his back and realized that Nishinoya's hands had found their way back inside his shirt; his fingers currently were digging into the muscle of his shoulder blades, and Asahi could feel the bite of his nails. 

Asahi pulled back slightly, only enough to catch a glimpse at Nishinoya's face, and saw Nishinoya looking back at him with an expression that matched the wildness blazing inside Asahi's ribcage. Nishinoya used this as a cue to slip his hands out of Asahi's shirt – he instead tugged at the tail of it until it came free from between their bodies and pulled the last few buttons apart so that Asahi's chest was bare above him. Then he grabbed the bottom of his own shirt and wriggled as he pulled upward until he managed to get it off and over his head. When he was free, he put his hands back on Asahi's shoulders, inside his shirt, and pulled him down again. 

The touch of hot skin together only heightened Asahi's impression that he was tumbling downhill, gaining momentum as he went head over tail out of control. He slid one hand up Nishinoya's side, over the smooth skin and sharp ridges of his ribs, while he kept the other firmly against his ass, holding their bodies together where his own ached for contact. His fingers trailed upward over Nishinoya's chest; his thumb brushed a nipple and Nishinoya shuddered underneath him. Asahi kissed Nishinoya with abandon, savoring the heat of his mouth and the pull of his lips. 

Time had no meaning between them. It could've been an hour they tangled together on the floor of Asahi's tiny apartment. Asahi felt air on his back and realized he’d lost his shirt somewhere along the way. At some point Nishinoya's hands went to the waistband of his jeans, and Asahi allowed him to undo the button and shove them down to his thighs, then he pulled one leg out his own pants before he wrapped it back around Asahi's hip. They rocked in tandem, bodies slipping apart and back together again, as they spoke to each other without words in a language of sighs and moans and desperation. 

When Asahi came, it felt like a dam overflowing – a steady increase of water until the pressure grew too much and it spilled over in a great flood. He clamped his hands tightly on Nishinoya's hips and bucked hard a few times as the waves of it crested against him. His breath shuddered as he regained his senses, and when he pulled back he saw Nishinoya grinning up at him, pink in the face and beautiful and utterly wrecked himself. 

Asahi kissed him; he kissed him with all the softness he could manage, as though he could wash away all the frustration and anxiety of the last few weeks, as though he could apologize for his weird behavior and secrecy, as though he could explain his relief and the exquisite joy of his post-orgasmic high. 

When he pulled back, Nishinoya's face was scrunched up into something resembling confusion. "Was it not good?" Nishinoya asked. 

"What?" Asahi said. 

"You didn't like it?" Nishinoya continued, looking crestfallen. 

"What?" Asahi said again, before he realized he had tears on his face. "Oh!" he blurted. He sat up on his feet and swiped quickly at his cheeks with the heels of his hands. "No, no," he said, fighting back the way his breath heaved as a sob in his chest. "N-no, I'm happy, I'm so happy," he said. "It was wonderful, I'm sorry." 

Nishinoya sat up. He braced his hands behind him on the floor and leaned back on straight arms before regarding Asahi with a cautious expression. “You liked it, then?” 

Nishinoya’s hair was rumpled. His shirtless chest was flushed; he had a small bruise on the side of his neck where Asahi had sucked a little too hard. He still had one leg in his pants, and wore a pair of dark blue briefs that almost hid the wet spot at his groin. At the sight of him so wonderfully disheveled, Asahi’s resolve fractured again. 

He fell forward and threw his arms around Nishinoya, hugging him in tightly against his chest. “I loved it,” he said. “I love you.” 

Nishinoya’s hands slid around his sides until he was hugging Asahi back. “You’re so weird sometimes, Asahi-san,” Nishinoya said into the skin over his collarbone. There was no edge to it, just a statement of bemused fact. 

“I know,” Asahi returned. He pulled back slightly and looked down; Nishinoya looked up at him, beaming with the force of a hundred suns. Asahi smiled. “You bring it out in me,” he said. 

Nishinoya laughed. He reached up with one hand and brushed a tear off Asahi’s chin with the knuckle of his forefinger. “I should work on that,” he said. 

“Don’t,” Asahi said, and Nishinoya flicked him on the chin. 

“I still haven’t given you your present,” Nishinoya said. 

Asahi had entirely forgotten about the Christmas gifts. It felt like they had started the exchange a hundred years earlier; it’d been barely thirty minutes. “I feel like I already got a present,” he said. 

“That’s dumb. You gave me one, I should give you yours too.” Nishinoya pulled out of his embrace and stood up long enough to extract his remaining leg from his pants, which left him wearing only his underwear. Asahi found himself flushing and averted his eyes. Nishinoya noticed his reaction. “What?” he said. 

“You, you…” Asahi started. He gestured vaguely at Nishinoya. “You’re not… wearing anything.” 

Nishinoya looked down at himself. “ _Now_ you’re embarrassed?” he asked. His tone was more than incredulous. 

Asahi managed to smile weakly at himself. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Nishinoya bend to pick clothing off the floor; he realized belatedly that it was his own shirt. Asahi watched, mesmerized as the soft cotton slipped over Nishinoya’s frame – the sleeves were too long; Nishinoya had to fold them over so his hands were free to do the buttons – the tail of it was clear past his hips, trailing far down his thighs. 

“What?” Nishinoya said, and Asahi realized he was staring. 

“That’s…” Asahi swallowed. “… even worse…” 

Nishinoya stomped hard with one foot. “Make up your mind!” he demanded. 

He retrieved the present from where it had been kicked aside in their ardor. The wrapping was all but destroyed now. A long strip of it had come loose, and Asahi could see plastic casing underneath, as well as part of a logo. Nishinoya settled back down next to him – he grabbed Asahi’s wrist as he sat and used it to pull Asahi’s arm around his shoulders. Then he handed the gift over. “Here,” he said. “It’s not as good as yours was, but I got it for you.” 

“It’s great, I’m sure,” Asahi said. He managed to finish tearing the paper away with one hand while his other held Nishinoya in close to his side. Nishinoya smelled so warm and good that it barely registered what lay in front of him until he had the wrapping fully away and could take in the entire item. 

It was a pair of headphones, brand new and still encased in plastic. They were – Asahi knew the brand, he knew the model. He’d been looking at them for weeks and weeks, trying to decide if he was brave enough – or foolish enough – to justify the not insubstantial price tag. 

“Nishinoya,” he said. “You shouldn’t have.” 

“What? You don’t like them? You’ve been staring at them every time we walk past the electronics.” 

“No, its–” Asahi bit down on his lip. “I wasn’t going to get them,” he said, “they were too expensive, it was just a fantasy more than anything, I wasn’t going to buy them for myself–” 

“I know that,” Nishinoya cut in. He pinched Asahi hard on the ribs, and Asahi jumped. “I bought them for you because I knew you wouldn’t do something that nice for yourself.” 

Asahi stopped. He looked at the earphones again. 

“This is the part where you say ‘thank you’, Asahi-san.” 

Asahi tightened his arm around Nishinoya. “Thank you,” he echoed. He turned the earphones over to look at the specs on the label. “How did you afford them?” he asked. “They were so expensive…” 

“It’s no big deal!” Nishinoya insisted. “I just worked in Dad’s salon for awhile.” He was already worming his way up Asahi’s side again, wrapping his arms over Asahi’s shoulders and kissing at his neck. 

The guilt still swam inside Asahi’s stomach, even as he began to feel tendrils of arousal returning as Nishinoya’s lips found the tender skin of his throat. “If… you’re sure…” 

Nishinoya pulled back and glared at him. “I was sure earlier, I am sure now,” he declared. “I was sure yesterday and the day before that.” He poked Asahi in the cheek. “I was sure six months ago when you jumped me after that movie night.” Asahi couldn’t help but blush at the memory. Nishinoya continued. “I was sure two years ago,” he said. “I was sure the day I met you.” 

Asahi’s mouth felt dry. He licked his lips. “That can’t possibly be true…” he said. 

“It’s true enough,” Nishinoya returned. “Stop apologizin’ for liking me and just let yourself like me, okay?” 

Asahi nodded. He put his hands against Nishinoya’s smooth back, and Nishinoya grinned in response. 

“Besides,” Nishinoya said, “if anyone seems unsure here, it’s you. Why you been going about this so weird, anyway?” 

“Oh. I… uh. Oh….” Asahi coughed into his hand and looked at the far wall.  “I wasn’t sure… how to talk to you about it,” he admitted. “And I… well.” He laughed nervously. “Maybe it’s better if I just show you.” 

Asahi extracted himself from Nishinoya’s embrace and stood up, then crossed the room to where he’d left his phone on the counter. As he returned, he pulled up the picture of the list. “I, uh… found this in a magazine,” he said as he handed the phone over to Nishinoya. 

Nishinoya’s forehead creased as he read the list. Asahi watched his lips move silently, before they pursed into a disturbed frown. 

“Asahi-san,” Nishinoya said. 

“Y-yes?” 

“This is…” Nishinoya shook his head. “This stuff is all _terrible_ .” 

Asahi covered his eyes with his hand. “I know,” he admitted. “I knew it was bad. I was desperate.” 

Nishinoya started laughing. “Is this from a ladies magazine? You don’t even have boobs! And I’m allergic to pomegranate!” 

“In my defense, I didn’t know that at the time…” 

“Holy shit, _masturbate_ ?” 

Asahi tried to grab his phone. “I wasn’t going to do that one!” he blurted. 

“Wait, what’s the last one say?” Nishinoya asked as he evaded Asahi’s grip. “Wear something red? Or nothing at all? You didn’t do that one!” 

“That was supposed to be tonight,” Asahi said miserably. “I got sidetracked.” 

“Tonight?” Nishinoya stopped, and Asahi managed to get his phone back. “But you weren’t wearing red.” 

Asahi felt himself blushing again. “N-no,” he said. “It’s something. For later.” 

“For later?” Nishinoya echoed. “What do you mean?” 

The muscles in Asahi’s face contracted as he grimaced. “Wait here,” he said, then he went to retrieve The Box from his closet. 

“Oh,” Nishinoya said a few minutes later, when the box was laid out in front of him. He looked at Asahi with his eyebrows high on his forehead. “Where did you even get something like this?” he asked. 

Asahi thought he might implode from embarrassment. “The internet,” he said stiffly. 

“Well.” Nishinoya picked up an edge of the fabric between his index finger and thumb. “It _is_ red,” he said. 

“Yeah,” Asahi returned. 

Nishinoya was quiet for a few moments. At length, he made a thoughtful noise in his throat. “Y’know,” he said, “it’s still Christmas.” 

Asahi looked up. Nishinoya’s attention was still on the box, but as Asahi watched, his gaze flicked upward and the edge of his mouth quirked. 

“You don’t say,” Asahi said. 

Nishinoya held up part of the costume: a pair of red shorts edged with white fur that were so tiny Asahi wasn’t sure how anyone was supposed to fit in them. “I guess we shouldn’t let it go to waste,” Nishinoya continued. “Otherwise we’d have to wait ‘til next year.” 

“That’s a very good point,” Asahi said. Nishinoya was still wearing his shirt with nothing but underwear beneath it. He felt a pang beneath his stomach when he noticed Nishinoya’s pale wrists sticking out of his overlarge sleeves. 

Nishinoya grinned. He pulled the Santa hat out of the box and put it on his head. “Well, come on, then,” he suggested. “Let’s finish out that list.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
